


There's an endless road to be discovered

by Romennim



Series: Valar's Blessing [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin is dying. Help comes to Bilbo from an unexpected person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's an endless road to be discovered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hobbitstory big bang](http://hobbitstory.livejournal.com) at LJ
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [morena-evensong](http://morena-evensong.livejournal.com), for her quick and fantastic work.  
> Thanks to [nickygabriel](http://nickygabriel.livejournal.com) for running and creating the hobbitstory big bang, that is the first big bang I have ever taken part in. 
> 
> This story is a fix-it for what happens at the end of the book, and since I haven't read the whole of it, my canon is a mix of book, movies, bits I took from various fanfictions, wikipedia and what I wanted :) it didin't take me much to realize I couldn't follow Tolkien to the letter, so I've decided to create my own canon/universe. Please, bear with me.

_Present_

"He will not thank you, halfling. "

Bilbo tried not to flinch at the harsh truth of Thranduil's words. Yes, he knew Thorin was going to hate him. What he was asking was crazy, _unthinkable_ , and, most of all, unforgivable. But when all was said and done Thorin's hatred would be nothing compared to Bilbo's disgust at himself, for the choice he was making.

He couldn't help but look at the cot where Thorin was still sleeping: his chest heaving with difficulty and covered in bandages already soaked again in blood, a red sign that death was fast approaching. Bilbo's heart constricted painfully at the sight and his fists clenched. No, there was nothing else to do. Thranduil was right, there was no doubt that Thorin was going to hate him, but Bilbo had to face another harsh truth, one more selfish, but true nonetheless.

"I much prefer his hatred, being cast out again and condemned to live the rest of my life alone, than letting him die when I could have prevented it."

"That is extremely selfish."

"I know." _I don't care,_ he wanted to say, but bit his lip.

Thranduil went on, ruthlessly. "If it goes well, the rest of your life could be a very long time, Mr Baggins. Maybe too long to bear such a burden."

Bilbo knew that too: the days spent in Bard's camp after being almost thrown from the battlement by Thorin, his cruel words filled with hatred ringing in his ears, were still too fresh in his mind. The thought of living through that again was painful, he couldn't deny that; the thought of living for decades, maybe centuries like that, was terrifying. And in a moment, all the doubts and all the worries he had tried to ignore, to bury in some deep, obscure corner of his mind, came rushing back with vengeance and he almost stopped breathing.

What was he doing? What in the Valar's name was he thinking of doing?

He breathed, deeply, trying to calm himself, but it was hard. A part of him felt like he was at the edge of something momentous, something that would change more than just the lives of three people.

He needed to think over everything once again. As if he hadn't done that enough times already in the past hours, since this crazy idea had been brought to life. But there was something different this time, a feeling of something almost sacred taking place, and he gave it its due attention. He felt as though the Valar themselves were watching him decide.

And maybe they really were watching. Had Thranduil not said that the binding would take place only with the Valar's blessing? Was he really going to ask for a blessing, for this chance, when he had been so single-minded and blind? Was he going to ask for mercy, while being so selfish?

Yes, he was really doing it. But first there was one question he had to ask again.

"You can still refuse." He said, completely ignoring the Elf-King's words.

The Elf-King raised an eyebrow, gaze focused on the hobbit. Just as Bilbo was beginning to fidget under the hard stare, Thranduil looked at Thorin, expression unreadable.

Yes, Bilbo was selfish, but he was still considerate enough to ask for confirmation. Saving Thorin's life with any means necessary, or possible, was his burden, his need, not someone's else. He didn't want to think about Thranduil's sacrifice too much, he would throw up otherwise, but he knew the Elf-King wouldn't do this only out of obligation. After all, repaying Legolas' debt didn't mean he had to go to these lengths. He could refuse with no consequence – or at least that is what both he and Gandalf had said. He hoped it was true. He had enough guilt for one lifetime without adding to it.

***

_A few hours before_

“We are losing him fast, lad. You should go inside and talk to him.”

***

"I would have given everything to grow old with you, my love."

Thorin's hand was holding his, but Bilbo was only too aware of how weak its grasp was, how little strength was in those fingers that had caressed his curls and held him so many times in the past months. Suddenly, Bilbo felt with heartbreaking certainty that those many times had been too few. His throat closed up and his vision blurred, tears prickling his eyes, threatening to fall.

No, he wouldn't cry right now. He couldn't waste these precious, last moments with Thorin with his grief. There would be time enough later. There would be an entire lifetime for it later.

He cleared his voice and squeezed Thorin's fingers gently.

“I love you, Thorin.”

He couldn't say more. Thorin's gentle smile was just too much and Bilbo couldn't believe that everything was coming to an end. Not now, not like _this_.

Why? Where was the sense in this? Why had they escaped giants, goblins, huge spiders, elven prisons, a _dragon_ even, to end like this? Why?

There wasn't any sense, and Bilbo didn't know how he would survive this, this injustice of escaping one of the biggest battle of their age, just to see his love die just as he had obtained his dream. Because Erebor was finally free, finally again a dwarf-kingdom under Durin's line, except his rightful King after sixty years was dying, his life slowly flowing out of his body, and Bilbo couldn't, just _couldn't_...

“Say you forgive me, Bilbo. Please.”

Thorin's words shocked him out of his thoughts. His heart lurched violently before continuing to beat furiously again in his chest. He should say something, but the words were trapped in his throat.

The desperate look in Thorin's eyes, though, was enough to spur him into talking. Thorin was the priority in this moment. He had to find the words, the courage.

“I've already forgiven you, Thorin.” he said softly, caressing his hand.

Thorin closed his eyes and a little sound escaped his lips. Then, nothing.

A sudden burst of panic, of absolute terror, had Bilbo leaping out of his chair and taking Thorin's face in his hands.

“Thorin! Thorin! Come on, open your eyes. _Thorin!_ ”

After a few agonizing moments, Thorin's eyes blinked open, but their lovely brown was unfocused.

Thorin was slipping farther away with each passing second.

Bilbo couldn't deal with this, he couldn't. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to stave off the panic. He _couldn't_.

“I'm here.” Thorin whispered weakly, almost not there at all. “I...”

“Shh” Bilbo tried to hush him.

“No, I...” Thorin retorted quietly. “Let me say this.”

His breathing became more labored and Bilbo could only stand there, caressing his hair, his brows, his cheeks, trying to comfort him. He could... he _would_ do this! For Thorin.

“I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” answered Bilbo with no hesitation.

“When I am...” Thorin paused, talking being too much for a moment. He tried again.

“When I am gone,” he ground out (and a river of agony ripped through Bilbo's chest at those words), “please, remain here. For Fíli. And Kíli. Until Dís comes.”

Bilbo looked away, trying to not let Thorin see his tears. How could he remain here? How? In this desolate land, in this mountain, where everything he held dear would soon be taken from him?

“Please, Bilbo.”

The entreaty was almost too much, and a few tears began to run freely down his cheeks. It wasn't right. Thorin shouldn't plead for anything. Not for forgiveness, not for promises.

“I...” Bilbo tried to say, but the lump in his throat was suffocating. He furiously wiped away his tears and tried to smile at Thorin.

“I will.” he forced himself to say.

“Thank you.” Thorin said and his eyes closed again.

Bilbo wanted to scream, but he could see the dwarf was still breathing, chest almost imperceptibly moving under the furs that were keeping him warm.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, almost mesmerized by the movement of Thorin breathing. He couldn't stop himself, afraid that if he lost the concentration even for a moment, it would be too late and...

It was a commotion outside the tent, Dwalin's voice rising above the distant sound of the camp that shook him from his thoughts. He was instantly angry at the noise. Who dared disturb them now?

He didn't want to know what was going on outside, but had the feeling whoever it was wasn't going away. Balin's more reasonable voice had joined his brother's. It was peculiar that he didn't hear the voice of whomever they were talking to.

He forced himself to get up and walk to the entrance, the movement reminding him that he hadn't left the battlefield totally unscathed: the mithril chain-mail had protected him, but the blows had still hit him. He felt as if a dozen carts had run over him several times. Walking was particularly painful for his right leg and his ribs. Maybe something was broken. He didn't care.

It took almost twice as long as usual to reach the entrance and then he was finally able to hear Fundin's sons more clearly. It seemed Balin was trying to soothe his brother, who was snapping at someone.

“Calm down, Dwalin, he -”

“I don't fucking care who he is, brother, he -”

The surprise at hearing Dwalin swear stopped him just a few centimeters from the tent flap.

“He is the Elf-King, brother, and...”

Balin's sharp tone shook Bilbo out of his surprise, but his words threw him even more.

The Elf-King? Thranduil? What was _he_ doing here now?

A sudden burst of anger rushed through him. How dare he!

Before he could work himself into a state, he stepped out of the tent, coming face to face with the Elf-King himself, who seemed to glow under the rays of the moon. Dwalin's ax, too, was glinting under the moon as it blocked Thranduil's path to the tent. Its owner was on Bilbo's right and he stopped talking to his brother at the sound of someone stepping out of Thorin's tent.

“Well? What's going on here?” said Bilbo sharply to no one in particular.

“The Elf-King-” Balin began to say, but was interrupted by his brother.

“He wants to see Thorin, Bilbo.”

The Hobbit shoot a glance at the elf.

“What for?”

“I thought my presence could be of help.” he said, tone as cool as the air around them.

Bilbo tried to reign in his temper, but he couldn't help a sliver of anger from coloring his words.

“He is dying, Your Majesty” he ground out sharply. “Seeing you will not help him. It will only displease him.”

Thranduil only looked at him for a few moments, silent as a statue. His words seemed to come out from nowhere.

“I am the best healer my people have to offer. I could be of help.”

That seemed to spur Dwalin into joining the conversation.

“You heard, he is dying! There is nothing that you or...”

“Dwalin!” Bilbo said sharply. He didn't need this now, but, maybe...

It was Balin who interrupted then.

“Elves are renowned for their healing knowledge, Bilbo. Even Kíli had no hope. Maybe...”

That was exactly what Bilbo was thinking. Maybe there was still a chance. Should he let the elf pass, though? Thorin despised him, but the King Under the Mountain was dying and maybe...

Before uncertainty could stop him, he stepped aside, gesturing to Thranduil that he could enter.

Thranduil looked down at the ax, then at the Dwarf wielding it. Dwalin huffed and lowered the weapon.

“I will remain here.” added Dwalin unnecessarily, looking at Bilbo, who wondered if the look was for reassurance – for what then? - or for confirmation.

The hobbit shoot an inquisitive glance at Balin, who only smiled a little.

Confounded dwarves! One was more confusing than the other.

Thranduil moved, walking slowly, but surely, _regally_ , in the tent.

He stopped at Thorin's bedside, observing him. After a few minutes, his hands left his side and began moving along the dwarf's body, hovering near the skin, but never touching it. The elf began chanting something under his breath, and suddenly his hands were glowing, the soft light seemed to suffuse Thorin's body.

Thorin hadn't moved an inch since Bilbo had stepped inside and even now wasn't responding to anything. He was as still as death and the thought was like a river of molten lava for Bilbo's heart.

No, there was nothing that could be done. Not even elf magic could stop death from coming and taking Bilbo's love.

Tears were again threatening to fall and Bilbo hastily brought his hands to his eyes, trying to stop them. It was useless. Hot, furious tears were soon falling he could not stop the sobs that followed. He drowned in the sorrow, the pain, the unfairness of it all.

The steady presence of a hand on his shoulder made him resurface, and he tried once again to rein in his sorrow. He swallowed his sobs and clumsily wiped away his tears, trying to look at the being before him. Thranduil loomed before him but, for the first time since he had met him, his presence was comforting and steady instead of cold and aloof, as if the elf understood what he needed in that moment.

When he was finally able to focus on the Elf's face, what he saw there was another surprise: the Elf-King was gazing down at him with warm eyes. Warmth, understanding, and a trace of sorrow. As if he himself knew of Bilbo's feelings, as if he was feeling pain too for Thorin's grim condition.

A part of Bilbo was still rational enough to wonder what had brought this on, what could have possibly happened to change Thranduil's countenance towards the Dwarf-King, but the biggest part of Bilbo wasn't able to think. It just needed understanding and comfort, and strangely the elf's presence was providing exactly that.

Bilbo felt a bit of relief and he was suddenly grateful at Thranduil for giving him that. As though he had understood what was going on in the hobbit's heart, the King squeezed gently Bilbo's shoulder, reassuring.

“I have news, Bilbo Baggins. Come and walk with me.”

The words were like a bucket of ice-cold water. Bilbo's mind froze.

“What...?”

Thranduil's eyes softened. Bilbo must have been going insane, because he could swear the elf was smiling at him in his own stern way.

This time both the elf's hands were squeezing his shoulders, gently turning him around and prodding him forward towards the tent's entrance.

Bilbo had already moved two steps when he realized what was going on. He stopped immediately.

“No! No, I...” he choked out. “I can't leave him now! What if, what if...?”

Thranduil moved him around again and Bilbo couldn't even find in himself the irritation at being treated as a child.

“He will not die while we are away.”

Thranduil's tone was flat, almost rigid, but Bilbo took the reassurance for what it was, and he was almost grateful for the harshness. He needed certainty now. He didn't even think to doubt if that was the truth or not, but he needed to ask.

“How can you say that?”

His tone was far too casual for speaking to a King, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

“I put a spell on him. He will stay in this exact condition for a few hours.”

Bilbo was so relieved at the idea that Thorin was going to live for a few hours more that he could only smile at the elf.

“Thank you.” he said, his heartfelt gratitude in his words.

Thranduil inclined his head.

“Now come. The fresh air will help you.”

Bilbo thought that nothing in Arda would help him, but the elf had been kind to him and he believed his words when he said Thorin would live for a few more hours, so he turned again towards the entrance and stepped out of the tent.

***

The sun had set some time ago and the only light came from the moon above them. They had left the camp behind, and now the only sound they could hear was the wind howling along the side of the mountain.

Bilbo shivered. It was not cold, but the brunt of winter was almost upon them and he gathered that particular season was harsher here than in the Shire. It was going to find them unprepared.

No, he wouldn't think of that now. There would be time later. Later, after...

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked suddenly, to distract himself. He didn't dare hope that there was a chance for Thorin. Thranduil would have said in the tent, otherwise. But what was so important that it couldn't wait?

Thranduil stopped walking and turned to gaze down at him. The moon was shining behind him, creating a strange play of light and shadow on his face. Bilbo couldn't say what his expression was.

“What would you be willing to do to save him?”

The question was disconcerting and made him flush. They were not out here to discuss his feelings he hoped! He would have rather stayed at Thorin's bedside than waste time here like this!

“It is not an idle question, Mr Baggins. Please, answer me.”

Bilbo looked at the landscape around them, the harshness of the mountain, of the Kingdom Thorin was dying for, and answered.

“Anything.”

And it was the truth. He would do anything to save his love, his Thorin. He had fought orcs, goblins and a strange creature to help a group of dwarves retake their home. He had fought against stone-giants, poisonous spiders and elven prisons to help his friends. And he had fought a dragon and gold-lust and madness to give Thorin and his Kingdom a chance to be everything they were meant to be.

He would do this all again – by himself even – if it meant saving his love. Nothing seemed too much.

But Thranduil hadn't heard that, so he probed further.

“Anything? Even something that could make the King Under the Mountain hate you forever? Something unforgivable?”

“More unforgivable than stealing the symbol of his birthright and giving it to the enemy he has loathed all his life?”

Bilbo didn't want to sound sarcastic or disrespectful, but he was at the end of his rope: he was tired, actually, he was _exhausted_ , and aching almost everywhere. Thranduil had insisted on leaving the camp behind, but Bilbo's leg was still hurting and the walk hadn't done him, his body or his mood any good.

And Thorin was still dying. It could be presumptuous of him, but he thought he was due a bit of leeway.  
  
The question was futile anyway. Hadn't his actions these past days demonstrated the lengths he would go to to protect Thorin?

Thranduil, evidently, didn't think so. “Stealing the Arkenstone will be nothing compared to this.” he said dryly.

Bilbo almost stopped breathing when the meaning of the words seeped into his mind, but a fleeting flare of hope threw his thoughts and his heart into a frenzy.

“What are you saying?” he demanded, uncaring of his tone or of the status of the person he was addressing. “Is there something that you can do about it?!”

Thranduil didn't let him finish.

“There is.” he said.

But a sudden flare of hope, a hope he had tried to smother since the moment the Elf-King had requested to speak with him, sprang to life, joyful and strong, almost stopping his heart with its intensity. Was it possible? Was there really a chance for Thorin?

He looked at the elf expectantly, but the stoic creature didn't say anything more. Irritation, flavored with anger, flared to life, strengthened by this new possible chance that something could be done for Bilbo's love. Bilbo wanted to scream.

Damned elves! Thranduil must know how important, how _vital_ this was to him, and yet here he was, keeping silent.

“There is something that could be done to help him. He could be lost anyway, but it could give him a chance.”

For the first time that night, Thranduil's steely eyes moved from Bilbo's form and shifted towards the distant horizon, as if looking for something in the darkness of the night. Bilbo's impatience continued growing, but the stillness of Thranduil, the sudden gravity of his intent expression, stopped his tongue. So he waited. The night, too, seemed to be waiting, the pallid light of the moon stilling every sign of life and darkness swallowing every sound. The camp that hosted armies of thousands could have been beyond the sea, so far away it seemed to Bilbo. A strange sense of awe spread through him, as if a part of him, buried deep, knew something life-altering was about to happen.

When, finally, Thranduil's words breached the silence of the night, the world itself seemed to be listening to him.

“It is a gift given to the First-born by the Valar themselves. With their blessing, it is the sharing of life. _Cuil Erthad_.”

Bilbo didn't know what to say, what to ask. Where did one begin with something like that?

“With your permission, I will attempt it.”

He said and then fell silent.

Oh confounded creatures! Was he damned in being surrounded by beings who either didn't speak plainly or didn't speak at all? Dwarves and elves were more similar to each other than they wanted others to believe.

Bilbo breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and not offend his only hope.

“Could you please give me more details?”

**

“So, let me see if I understood everything you told me,” said Bilbo, unable to prevent a sliver of disbelief from entering his voice (and really, what Thranduil had just told him was insane). Not even the idea of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit facing a dragon had had this level of craziness.

The Elf-King didn't reply, his expression as unreadable as always. Bilbo didn't believe Thranduil was as unaffected by his proposal as he wanted to appear, but for once he would have liked to have seen some kind of expression, some emotion, _something_ , on that ancient face. This was... If it was possible, it would radically change all of their lives. Bilbo _neede_ d to know what Thranduil really thought of this, if he were to make a decision.

“You could perform a ritual – a ritual that would tether Thorin's life to yours – so that he could live.”

Dear Yavanna, it sounded insane. It _was_ insane. And still Thranduil remained stoic and as silent as the stars who stood as impartial witnesses above them.

“How does it work exactly? I mean, what about...”

Dear Valar, Bilbo didn't know where to begin.

 _What about you_ , he wanted to ask, because, true, he wanted to save Thorin, but he wasn't so far gone yet not to wonder about the possible consequences for all involved. His love was absolute and fierce – often blind – but he wouldn't toy with the Elf-King's life.

Thranduil, fortunately, decided to answer, even if Bilbo himself didn't precisely know what he was asking.

“I will share my life with him. My life force will be his. In the eyes of the world it will be as though our lives are one and the same.”

Bilbo couldn't help a flinch at that. He knew it was stupid, that Thranduil had no intent whatsoever towards Thorin, but it sounded so, so _intimate_...

The Elf noticed his reaction at his words and stopped and looked at him strangely, but after a few moments his eyebrows rose, as if he'd caught onto something.

“It would be possible to do the ritual between you and the dwarf, Mr Baggins, but the King is too far gone. If I linked his life to yours, you would probably die with him.”

And that wouldn't solve anything, Bilbo thought bitterly. Or maybe it would. After all, if all of this worked, how would Thorin react knowing what Bilbo had done to him? Maybe he should risk it...

“We could try anyway,” he suggested. Thranduil frowned at him and Bilbo tried to convince himself that it was not a stupid idea. Not much, anyway.

“I am attempting this to save a life, not to end one.” Thranduil said, frostily.

And that prompted Bilbo into asking something that had sprung into his mind as soon as the elf had proposed the ritual.

“Why are you willing to do this?”

If possible, Thranduil's frown deepened, but Bilbo wouldn't be cowed. After all, he had survived Thorin's awful temper. And the dragon's. Thranduil had nothing on them. It must have been plain that he was not going to leave it alone, because Thranduil answered.

“I owe you a debt, Mr Baggins. I would have it paid.”

Bilbo could've sworn he heard a sigh from the elf.

 _Wait, what?_ “What?”

It seemed they were not done with insanity yet.

“You saved my son's life during the battle. This will be your payment if it is agreeable to you.”

Bilbo couldn't help the flush of horror coloring his thoughts and his cheeks.

“But this is-this is... I won't allow it!” he finally exclaimed, full of indignation.

The slight widening of Thranduil's eyes would have been more gratifying had it been a completely different situation.

“What is the matter?”

Yavanna and all the Valar help him!

“I don't want any payment, Your Majesty, for saving a life! It was quite the accident and I didn't do it for-”

“It was not an accident, Mr Baggins.”

Thranduil stated and the interruption completely derailed Bilbo's thoughts. The Elf-King had never interrupted anyone, as far as he knew. He just didn't.

“He was on the ground, unconscious, Mr Baggins, and you purposefully positioned yourself in front of him to stop an orc's blade from slaying him. It was no accident. He would be dead were it not for you.”

Thranduil's tone was as ice cold as ever, but the slight acceleration on certain words betrayed his impatience, maybe even his anger. Or was it fear for what had almost happened?

Bilbo cleared his throat, trying to rally his thoughts.

“That may be, Your Majesty, but I do not want any payment all the same.”

“It is not a matter of what you do or do not want. It is a matter of what it is. A debt exists between you and my son. The Valar don't look kindly at those who do not honor their debts and their words.”

The last sentence hung in the air and Bilbo felt a shiver run up his spine. That didn't sound like an empty phrase. It had the weight of experience and Bilbo's inner hobbit curiosity reared its head. Thranduil's countenance, though, had stiffened again and Bilbo knew probing wouldn't be welcomed. At all.

He sighed.

“If you are so set on repaying me, I can't say there isn't a better way you could do it, but...” and here he trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by questions, doubts and uncertainty. There was so _much_ he didn't know.

The raising of a dark eyebrow was his only prompting.

“You said...” he cleared his throat. “You said, I would die if it were me. Why would it be different for you?”

“My life force is a wide, slow river, tethered and strengthened to this world by its connection to the earth. Yours is like a stream... it would be drained trying to keep the King alive.”

Well, that sounded logical, but Bilbo could feel a sense of disquiet spreading in his chest, as if there was something important he wasn't grasping.

“I understand” he acquiesced anyway. “What would happen after?”

Here the elf broke eye contact, looking for a moment towards the valley spreading far and wide down the mountain.

“I do not know.” he said Bilbo's prickle of uneasiness made his heart skip a beat. “As far as we know, it was attempted only once, and the tale has been lost in the sea of time.”

That was not encouraging.

“Why?”

Thranduil shot him a questioning glance, but at least he didn't look away again.

“Why was it attempted only once?” Bilbo clarified.

“As I said, it is a gift of the Valar, given to the First-born and passed down to elven kings and queens.” He paused there, as if gathering his thoughts. “The ritual alters the path of a life, and so it meddles with the order of the world established by Eru Ilúvatar himself. The Valar decided it would be a blessing, bestowed to those worthy, whose life had been cut short before their time. That is the reason why it can be done only if a life is in danger and why there is no certainty of success. The Valar themselves decide whether the request is worthy and whether to grant it or not.

The exceptional nature of the ritual was impressed heavily upon the elven race and so our kings decided to guard its secrecy. Now only few of us know of it as not merely a legend.”

By the end of his speech, Thranduil's words were reverent and soft, almost echoing the music of the world surrounding them. Bilbo could almost feel the weight of history those words carried and he was awed. That he could know such a thing, that such a secret would be shared with him, made him feel small, almost as if he were nothing, unworthy. Who was he, after all, to dare want and ask for such a gift?

 _You are just a traitor_ , a malevolent and bitter voice answered in his mind. His heart lurched.

He had ignored so far his inner recriminations, and he had to keep doing it. Now was not the time to stop and think. He could only hope his actions and worthiness didn't count, somehow, in the granting of this request. After all, it seemed Thranduil was asking more than just his permission, but his approval. As if Bilbo were the one who had the right to decide what could be done to save Thorin's life. Surely Balin, or Dáin, had more right than him, since Fíli, Thorin's own heir, was still unconscious.

And that was even without considering what all of this was going to do to the Elf-King's life. In fact, Bilbo hadn't failed to notice that, so far, Thranduil had not provided any details of what would happen after. He had said he didn't know, but Bilbo's sixth sense was telling him clearly that there was something the elf was leaving out.

With this lack of information, was it right for him to decide both for Thorin's life and for Thranduil's? His heart wanted to say yes, immediately, at this slight chance, but his common sense quickly pointed out that he should not be so easy and rash to accept. What had happened with the Arkenstone was still very fresh and painful in his mind. That, though, he had justified to himself saying it had been the best, that he had done it to prevent war and bloodshed. But this time... this time, what justification could he possibly had? Saving Thorin's life, binding him to an enemy: was it really right for him to decide? Was he really going to be so selfish as to completely put aside what Thorin might think? Totally ignore it?

Bilbo feared that if he didn't, disgust for himself would swallow him.

Despite his inner turmoil, what the elf had said deserved a reply of some sort.

“I am... honored that you would do such a thing for a being you don't hold in high esteem.” is what he finally settled for. And really, how could Bilbo ignore that? “But I can't decide this alone, Your Majesty.”

Nothing on Thranduil's face betrayed his thoughts, except for a little tightening of his eyes.

Oh bother! What had he said now?

“Your approval is the only one I'm seeking, Mr Baggins.”

“I can't, Your Majesty. Even if you're doing this to repay me, I -”

“Your say is the only one that matters, because you also will be part of this ritual.”

At first, it was shock at being interrupted again that scrambled his thoughts, but as soon as he had been able to find his bearings to protest again, Thranduil's words registered in his mind and his thoughts froze again.

What in the Valar...

“What?” he almost shouted. “You said I can't do this-!”

“I know, and it is still true. What I meant to say is that you will be taking part in this ritual beside me and the Dwarf-King.”

Well, that didn't enlighten anything.

“But.. why?” he almost croaked out.

Thranduil's countenance changed then and, if possible, he seemed to stiffen even further. Bilbo realized then, with a shock as great as the revelations of that night, that the elf was uncomfortable.

It seemed the night's surprises were not yet done.

“You are his One, Mr Baggins.”

Bilbo didn't know if he should curse more the terseness of his words (an affinity elves and dwarves shared fully, damn them!) or the total lack of sense in them.

“I am his what?” By the end of the night, the elf was going to think he was somehow impaired.

Thranduil's eyes widened in surprise. It was not as satisfactory as Bilbo had thought it would be. His frustration was rapidly turning into a low simmering anger and Yavanna give him strength, he was tired, hurt and heart-sick. He just wanted some answers and for them to be clear. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was, damn everyone!

“You are his one and only love, the other half of his soul, gifted to him by Aulë and the Valar themselves.”

Bilbo wanted to cry. There was so much in those words that was untrue and so much he so desperately wanted to be true that his heart wanted to weep. Life was cruel indeed.

“I am none of those things, Your Majesty.” he said, voice hoarse and tears prickling his eyes. His heart hurt with every beat. Oh, how much he wanted those things.

Suddenly a hand was gently squeezing his shoulder and with a deep breath Bilbo lifted his eyes to look into Thranduil's. For the second time that night, he was gifted with a gentle and comforting look of understanding from that proud and ageless being.

“You are those things,” he said, with total lack of uncertainty.

“How can you...?”

“How do I know? Besides what the dwarf had told Mithrandir himself, I saw him on the battlefield when you saved my son's life.”

“What do you mean?”

“He saw you risking your life for Legolas, Mr Baggins. He saw the mortal danger you put yourself in and that shook him out of his gold-lust. Something I didn't believe possible until that moment. Only love for his One could have accomplished it.”

That didn't make any sense.

“Love didn't stop him from threatening and hurting me!” he exclaimed and how painful remembering that day was still!

It was in the past, and he had forgiven him, but the pain of that day, the memory of those words and Thorin's cruel expression cutting into him... he had forgiven, but he didn't believe he could ever forget. That day had changed him irrevocably.

A brief flicker of dismay passed through Thranduil's expression, and Bilbo realized he was being unfair to the elf. It wasn't the King he should be asking for explanations.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't take my frustration out on you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

Thranduil briefly tightened his hold on Bilbo's shoulder and then let go. Bilbo felt bereft for a moment, still he was grateful for the gesture. The Elf-King was showing more and more understanding than the hobbit had thought possible and, he was ashamed to admit, it seemed everyone had misjudged the elf. Surely, if everything were to turn out well, he would have to show Thranduil his gratitude. No matter what he said, the elf was doing more than what his supposed debt was worth towards Bilbo.

“I know I am not the person you should be hearing this from, but it is true nonetheless. I could ask you to trust me in this, but I have not gained this privilege, so I can only ask you to believe me and then you can go and ask someone else to confirm my words.”

Denial was quick on Bilbo's tongue, but he forced himself to say nothing. In fact, he wanted to deny and say that yes, he trusted Thranduil to tell the truth, but the reality was that while he didn't doubt the elf was telling what he thought was the truth, he doubted that was the truth at all. Thranduil could believe what he wished, but Bilbo didn't. Yes, he knew Thorin loved him. He wasn't so foolish to believe that everything they had shared until that fateful day on the battlement had been a lie. Thorin was too honorable to lie and not cruel enough to lie on his deathbed, but to go from that to believing Bilbo was Thorin's other half or fated love or something like that... Well, that was asking too much of him. Maybe he would have believed it before, but now? Now he couldn't.

Thranduil, though, hadn't a part in this, really, and Bilbo didn't want to burden him with his doubts and insecurities, so he decided to ignore the problem altogether.

“I still don't understand why I need to take part in all this.”

Thranduil frowned at him, as if he understood why Bilbo wanted to ignore completely his words on Thorin's love, but hobbit's pigheadedness had nothing on elves and dwarves, and when Bilbo just raised his eyebrow in inquiry, keeping his silence, the King only nodded, letting the matter go.

“As I said, you are his One and the exact effects of the ritual are unknown to me. I know, however, that our lives will become one, thus creating a form of bond. I do not know how that will affect his soul, if at all. I cannot risk that this bond will separate you from him.”

“What do you think would happen?”

Thranduil's hands twitched, before visibly tightening their hold on each other. Bilbo couldn't believe his eyes.

“I do not know, but no dwarf had ever reacted well when separated from his One.”

“What do you mean? Surely they don't...” he couldn't complete the sentence, suddenly horrified.

“No, usually they do not die. Few of them had not survived the separation, but no one has ever had to live separated from their One while they were alive. That is why I cannot say... he could fade.”

Bilbo's heart lurched.

“Fade? But I thought only elves...”

“Yes,” Thranduil acknowledged, voice unbearably soft and eyes far, far away. “Fading is usually the fate of my people, but dwarves do too when they do not have reason to live anymore.”

 _When their One dies_ , went unsaid, but Bilbo could hear it all the same.

Bilbo bit his lip, uncertainty warring in his heart and in his mind.

“So I should be a part of the ritual, so his soul won't perceive that I've left him.”

“Yes.” Thranduil said simply, as if it were as easy and clear as a bright summer's day. A truth for the world to see.

“I see.”

Even if he didn't see at all. He didn't believe in all of this One nonsense, but if Thranduil insisted... no price, no sacrifice, was too much, for Thorin's life. He would do it.

“There is a warning, though, that I should give you.”

And here it was. It was too good to be true, he had known it.

“My life will be the central focus of this. Your life and the King's will be joined through mine.”

Bilbo nodded. He didn't think it a problem.

“There is the possibility that, doing so, my lifespan could become yours.”

Bilbo's thoughts froze at that statement. An elven lifespan, dear Yavanna, that was... that was...

“You should think of the consequences, were that to happen.”

An eternity... he and Thorin could live an eternity. See Erebor thrive, see Fíli and Kíli grow in their roles, see them marry, have children.

An awful thought came to Bilbo, suddenly. If they were to live that long, they would also see their friends die... everyone they knew now would die way before them.

Something in the hobbit broke at the thought. How could they bear it?

Bilbo tried to comfort himself. He and Thorin would be together and they could endure...

And suddenly another awful thought, a thousands time worse, spread into his mind. What if Thorin hated him for making him endure an eternity, condemned to see everyone they loved die? See everything they loved and fought for die, all the while sharing a life with Thorin's most hated enemy?

Bilbo had so far tried to relegate that huge detail to a corner of his mind, as if it were just a minor detail, but the reality was that it was not minor at all and he had to stop and consider that.

He had so far thought of all this as a cure, as a method to heal Thorin, but it was not that simple. Thranduil had proposed an ancient ritual, a legacy of his people. And even if Bilbo was deeply grateful that Thranduil was willing to do so much for Thorin (and that reminded Bilbo, again, that so far the elf hadn't given him a satisfactory answer as to why he was willing to do so much for a being he had despised and tried to encumber so strongly before, debt be damned), he was not naive enough to think Thorin would see it his way.

How would Thorin react if he knew? If they told him before the ritual, Bilbo was certain Thorin would be outraged: he was so stubborn, so set in his prejudices against the Elf-King, that no promise of success, no prize of living another day, of seeing his nephews and his Kingdom thrive, would sway him to accept.

But how would he react after he was healed and well? How then? How when he could feel on his own skin all the benefits? He would be angry, that was certain, but how long would it take him to see the entire picture?

But would he really be able to? Or was Bilbo condemned to live with Thorin's resentment once again? Maybe even with his hatred?

Could Bilbo bear that?

“If you decide to do this, halfling, he could hate you for a very long time.”

Thranduil had a very uncanny way to sum up all of Bilbo's fears and worst thoughts. Even if it was hard, Bilbo was still grateful for it. He needed to remember even the unpleasant parts of this opportunity. Because it was an opportunity, but he couldn't forget that nothing in life was either white or black. He had to decide while considering every positive and negative aspect and to not forget this wasn't one of those epic tales he had so loved when he had been a little hobbit. He couldn't ignore the fact that Thorin was probably going to curse him instead of thank him when he woke up.

He needed time to think! Time to...

“And what about you?” he blurted out suddenly. Rather rudely, actually. He flushed, but didn't take back the words. There was something huge he hadn't considered and that Thranduil had conveniently kept silent on.

Thranduil, though, as usual, didn't say anything, just waited for his interlocutor.

“I meant, what about you: are you really willing to bind yourself to Thorin for such a long time?”

How couldn't he have thought of that? How?

A nagging suspicion formed then in Bilbo's mind. It seemed as though the Elf-King had so far tried to shift the focus from himself and his role in all of this, to Thorin and Bilbo, as if they were the only parties that mattered. Was Bilbo being paranoid? Was it just an impression, born from his worries for Thorin heaving his mind?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

“I will. You should ask yourself, instead, if you're willing to bind yourself and your love to me. I will need to stay with you both for a time. Until the dwarf has recovered.”

“And what after? Will you go back to your woods?”

“Yes.” he said, but his voice sounded strange, a discordant tone in his melodious voice.

Bilbo was dying to probe further, but he had no reason to and he surely didn't want to offend the Elf-King now. Now that they had made so much progress and were embarking in this life-altering endeavor.

And so it seemed a time for a decision had come. Bilbo had to make a choice.

As it was, though, he couldn't decide right in that moment. He had a few people he had to talk to before turning their lives upside-down. So he did the only thing he could in that moment, while resisting the temptation to say yes to Thranduil and suggest they go to Thorin immediately.

“If there is nothing more you have to add, I will take my leave now, Your Majesty. I need to think about this, before giving you an answer.”

Thranduil nodded.

Bilbo began his slow and painful trek back to the camp. He twisted his head back only once. Thranduil's face was turned upwards, light and beautiful, kissed by the rays of the moon. Against the shadows of the night he looked like a creature come out of a dream of long ago.

Bilbo tried to convince himself to not think what the expression he was wearing meant. He didn't believe his heart could take it.

***

_Present_

Thranduil's voice interrupted his reverie.

"I will do it, Mr Baggins."

Bilbo couldn't help the sigh of relief from leaving his lips.

"Then let's do it."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Cuil Erthad_ from _Cuil_ , life, and _Erthad_ , union. At least, according to www.elfdict.com. If it's wrong, forgive me.


End file.
